Reclaim
by Zetor
Summary: A short little ficlet about fixing mistakes, or keeping them from happening in the first place.


The alley behind the Zōn was cramped and filthy. Between the dumpster and the large black van parked next to the doors, there was only a small amount of space where a person could stand. Even the drunks didn't bother collapsing there, opting instead to pass out in front of the club where there was more room to sprawl out. Because of this, there was no one there to notice when the woman slipped into reality from thin air.

She was short, with long auburn hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, but her eyes, framed by stylish glasses, were those of someone with a singular purpose they had spent years working toward. Considering the area, her clothing was nondescript; torn black jeans and a faded grey tee, with heavy boots and a small purse. She looked like any other club goer, save for the nervous tension and sense of purpose that radiated from her.

"Well, all my organs are still on the inside, so I guess it works," she said in a flat voice. She glanced down at a complicated looking device on her wrist, twisting a few dials and checking several readings, then nodded. "Cutting it a little close, but there's still time." She reached her hand into her purse and wrapped it around something, her face hardening as she did, then headed out of the alleyway towards the street.

She came to a stop a few blocks down, ducking around a corner into an alley and watching the street. Shortly, a rusty deathtrap of a car came rolling around the corner and came to a stop a few yards away from her. A young man, still in his teens, climbed out. He was rather bland looking, with brown hair and an average build. His clothes were equally nondescript, but their quality betrayed his wealth. He climbed out of his car and started towards the Zōn. As he passed by the alley, the woman called out, "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to hang around bad neighborhoods, Mr. Sloan?"

He stopped and turned to look at her, a look of confusion passing over his face for a moment, then smirked and said, "Alright, who put you up to this? Did they pay you to scare me or seduce me? I can't tell with that voice."

A dark look passed over the woman's face at the word seduction, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. It was a small smile, more predatory than flirtatious, but enticing all the same. Her voice still flat, she answered, "Let's just say an old friend. As for the second question, why don't you come back here and find out?"

The young man raised an eyebrow and looked her over, eyes slowly crawling over every part. When he was done, he looked her in the eye with a grin, and said, "Sure, why not. Show me what happens in 'bad' neighborhoods."

"Oh, I will," The woman said, turning and walking down the poorly lit alley. Halfway down the alley, out of sight from the street, she spun around, pulling the small pistol she had been holding out of the purse and leveling it at the young man.

His eyes widened and he froze mid-stride. He tried to put on a disarming smile and managed to say, "Okay, slumming is dangerous. I get it. You can tell my dad I'm scared, now just put down the—"

"You took Jane from me. You took her, and you kissed me, and she left. She wouldn't come back, Tom. She wouldn't forgive me. I have to do this. I can't let it happen again. There's no one else like her." The woman's voice had lost its flat affect and was choked with emotion, almost hysterical. Tears started to make their way down her cheeks, and her body started to shake.

The young man took a step back and put up his hands, all pretense of a calm cocky attitude gone. "Look, miss, just calm down. You're confused. I've never even met you."

"And now you never will. You'll never meet either of us," the woman said. Relaxing her arms, she aimed the gun at his chest.

"Please, I can get you money, anything," the young man pleaded, "Just please don't—" Two short cracks cut him off, and his body fell to the filth covered floor of the alley, a small pool of blood starting to spread.

"You always did think money could solve anything," the woman said, looking down at the young man's motionless body. She brought her foot back and kicked it in the crotch with her boot, hard enough to push it a few inches across the ground. When it didn't respond, she put the pistol back in her purse and made her way out of the alley, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

* * *

The Zōn was a good sized club, catering to the alternative crowd. What might have been a small segment of the population was bolstered by a policy of regularly admitting and serving minors. Drunk patrons covered in piercings and tattoos moved their bodies to the music of a mediocre band, led by a scrawny man with spiked black hair in a faded green shirt. Coming to the end of a song the man called out, "We're Mystik Spiral. We'll be back for a second set."

The woman sat at the bar, nursing a beer and intently watching a young woman standing at the edge of the crowd. She was thin, with a runner's build, and wore a red jacket that stood out against her otherwise dark clothes. Black hair in a page boy cut framed a heart shaped face set with piercing blue eyes. The black haired girl stood by herself, watching the crowd, until she was joined by another young woman with long auburn hair, wearing a green jacket and a bored expression. The woman watched as the two talked, each becoming more animated in the other's presence. She smiled.

* * *

 **Hey,**

 **So this is just a little thing I wrote awhile ago and hadn't posted here. I guess I just wanted to kill Tom like all the cool kids. It comes off a little Terminatory in a couple of places, but whatever.** ** **It's just over the limit for my shorts collection, so it gets to be posted on its own.** Hope you get something out of it.**


End file.
